Chapter Text
“Mhmmm . . . What? Lemme sleep. . . .”
“Oh c’mon, it’s eight o’clock already,” Harry scolded her. “If you don’t get up in a minute, you’ll be skipping your breakfast today.”
“You’re the worst roommate ever,” Dora groaned, turning in bed and hiding her head beneath a pillow before it was snatched rudely from there. “Like the very worst.”
“Get — up — you — sleepyhead!” Harry said loudly, shaking her violently.
Dora tried her best to ignore him but then he sat on her back.
“Ouch!” She gasped in agony. “Get off my back, you moron!”
“You’re a moron,” Harry shot back at her. “I’m telling you the last time, if you don’t get up in a minute, I’ll not be making pancakes for you.”
That earned Dora’s curiosity.
“Pancakes?” she said eagerly, half-turning in her place to look up at Harry. “You’re making pancakes today?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why didn’t you say that before? I love your pancakes!”
Scoffing, Harty got off her back and Dora finally rose to her feet. Yawning, she stretched her arms wide but Harry was in a hurry. He pushed her towards the bathroom while her arms were still outstretched, saying, “I haven’t got all day, the oven’s about to heat up!”
“Geez, Harry, relax,” Dora said carelessly, grabbing her towel and clothes from her wardrobe and entering the bathroom.
Shaking his head in slight frustration, Harry returned to the kitchen where he made further progress in making pancakes until his cell phone rang.
“ ’Morning, Hermione,” he greeted his best friend pleasantly.
“Good-morning, Harry,” she said from the other side. “You excited?”
“For what?” Harry asked distractedly, adding butter to the pan.
“It’s your fourteenth birthday next week, remember?” Hermione said a bit hysterically.
“Oh, yeah — I forgot —”
“Hmph, like only you can,” Hermione mumbled, making Harry grin.
“But, Hermione, it’s next week —”
“Exactly, only next week!” she said in a high-pitched voice. “And I still have no idea what I’m giving to you as your present.”
“Relax, Hermione, it’s not a big deal,” Harry said calmly.
“Not a big deal?” Hermione repeated as though she thought he had lost it. “What you gave me on Christmas, it’s set the bar so high —”
“It’s not a competition —”
“But I wanna show how much it means to me —”
“You don’t have to —”
“Yes, I do!” she said stubbornly. “And I will! I just hope you haven’t forgotten that you’re coming to our place for your birthday.”
“How can I forget that, Hermione?” Harry said smoothly. “I love your place.”
“Nice to hear,” she said. “So, what’re you doing today?”
“Making pancakes right now,” Harry told her a bit irritably. “Only if Dora had woken up earlier, I’d be free by this time.”
Hermione giggled.
“Seems like you’re enjoying it there,” she said wittily.
“She’s so ill-managed,” Harry sighed. “Everyday I wonder how she was managing before I came here.”
“Well, now that her savior’s come to her, why should she depress herself on such childish matters anymore, right?” Hermione went on. “I bet she’s started to call you the Merciful Lord Potter or something by now.”
“Shut up,” Harry said, thankful to the fact that Hermione could not see his red face. The truth was Dora had indeed called him “O, Lord Potter, Your Highness!” only last night when he helped her sort out the mess that her wardrobe was for the fourth time in a month.
Hermione giggled even more. Just then, Dora returned from the bathroom.
“Say hello to Hermione from me,” she said, flopping down on the couch in the hall, rubbing her violet hair with a towel. She was now wearing an ivory tank top over a pair of black shorts.
“She says hello,” Harry told Hermione.
“Hello from me too,” said Hermione.
“She says hello to you too,” Harry told Dora. He then muffled his cell phone with a hand and asked Dora, “How did you know it’s her?”
“Isn’t it always?” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, right,” said Harry, flushing. He removed his hand from his cell phone and said to Hermione, “Well, I’ll talk to you later, Hermione.”
“Okay, good-bye . . . Lord Potter.”
Harry’s jaw dropped, a chilly tingle running down his spine. He put the phone besides the stove, feeling numb.
“Pancakes, Harry!”
“Huh?”
“Pancakes, you’re gonna burn them!” Dora’s voice startled him back to the present.
“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, returning to the pancakes.
“Mmmm . . . As delicious as ever . . .” Dora said delectably as they began eating at last.
“Thanks,” said Harry modestly.
“I wish you didn’t have to go to Hogwarts,” Dora said a bit sadly. “We’re having such a good time here, ain’t we? I am having the time of my life, honestly.”
“I’m having a great time too, Dora,” Harry told her honestly. “But I gotta go to Hogwarts, right? No choice.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, twisting a small piece of pancake on her fork. “What career are you going to pursue, have you given it a thought yet?”
“No, I haven’t.” Harry shook his head. “Do I have to think of it right now?”
“No, but pretty soon,” said Dora. “Next year you’ll be giving your O.W.L.s and you get to choose your N.E.W.T. subjects according to them. So, you should know what subjects you’re going to work hard on so that you grab the necessary O.W.L. grades. All in all, you have about a year to decide before you start working hard.”
“Hmm . . . Hey, ain’t your Auror Test results supposed to be on the way now?”
Dora gulped visibly, her hair changing colors frequently from violet to green to red and at last a dull gray.
“You will pass, Dora, I’m sure,” Harry said, patting her shoulder as a show of support. She let out a noncommittal noise from her throat, not meeting Harry’s eyes at all.
The two of them finished their meal in silence. Harry gathered the utensils and proceeded to wash them. When he returned to the hall around half an hour later, Dora was still in a sad mood, playing with her hair which were now waist-length long and silvery blonde.
“Dora, cheer up!” Harry said.
She let out a deep sigh and said, “I think I’m going to fail, and I don’t even know what I’m going to do next if I do fail.”
“You’re not going to fail,” Harry said resolutely.
“How do you know that?”
“I just do —”
Dora jumped to her feet and paced back and forth around the room, holding her head in her palms.
“I guess I can join my father in his Muggle clothes shop,” she blabbed anxiously. “Or try for some clerical job in the Ministry, perhaps?”
“Dora, even if you do fail, you can try for next year, can’t you?”
“No, Harry, I can’t,” said Dora irritably. “This was my third attempt and I do not have the energy to restart all over again —”
Dora stopped abruptly because a tawny owl had just entered the apartment carrying an envelope on which Harry could clearly see the Ministry of Magic seal.
Dora let out a loud scream. The owl was startled and began flapping its wings noisily. Harry had to put a great effort to calm it down in order to retrieve the envelope from its leg.
“I’ve failed! I’ve failed!” Dora moaned, flopping down on the couch, looking deflated.
“Let me read the damn letter, will you?” Harry said annoyingly. He tore open the envelope. It was all a blur in the start, but he blinked and focused on the text.
— By —
The Ministry Of Magic
To: Miss Nymphadora Tonks
Greetings,
This is to notify you that you have passed the Auror Test (year 1994) by eighty-three per cent. We, at the Ministry of Magic, congratulate you for your commendable achievement and wish you luck for the coming future.
You are required to attend the Certificate Distribution Ceremony in the Ministry on dated 1 August, 1994, at sharp 10 a.m.
From,
Rufus Scrimgeour
Head of Auror Office
The Department Of Magical Law Enforcement
“You’ve passed!” Harry exclaimed. “With eighty-three per cent!”
“WHAT?” Dora screamed in shock. “Are you sure it’s my name on the letter?”
“There’s no other person on this planet who’s named Nymphadora — Oof !”
Dora had flung her arms around Harry, screaming in joy.
“Didn’t I tell you?” said Harry happily as they pulled back.
Dora nodded her head rapidly and kissed Harry on the cheek.
“I can’t believe I’ve passed,” she said, rubbing her left eye. “I thought — I thought —”
“Oh, just shut up,” said Harry, rolling his eyes.
She hugged him again, her hair were now turning bubble-gum-pink, the evidence of her genuine happiness. Patting her back soothingly, Harry remembered the day he had arrived here. . . .
“You live in a Muggle neighborhood?” Harry asked Tonks as they deboarded the Knight Bus and passed through an alley in Luton.
“Yeah, though my parents live in a village in Devon,” she told him. “Away from the Muggles, you know. My dad’s Muggle-born and he’s a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just like with wizards?”
“I guess,” said Harry. “Hermione, my best friend, is a Muggle-born too, and her parents are dentists — very nice people.”
“Is there something I should know about your best friend?” Tonks asked in a teasing tone.
“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Harry mumbled, wishing he was not blushing. Tonks laughed.
“You like her?”
“Of course I do, she’s my best friend,” said Harry at once.
Tonks smirked but couldn’t say anything else because they had reached the end of the alley, facing a decent two-storeyed building.
“Up there,” Tonks told Harry, pointing at the window on the second level. “Come on.”
She led him into the building and up the stairs. There were three rooms on the second-floor but two had locks on their doors that looked like they hadn’t been opened in a long while. Tonks’s room was the last one. She pulled a key out of her jeans pocket and put it in the keyhole, twisting it clockwise. A clicking sound ensured her of success.
“Welcome to . . . the Tonks Residence?” Tonks said cluelessly, pushing open the door and letting Harry in after her.
It was a two-room apartment with a kitchen and a bathroom but a little messier for Harry’s liking. A coat and a Hufflepuff-shaded scarf was lying on the couch in the hall. From what Harry could see, a lot of utensils were dumped in the sink unwashed. Curtains looked old. The carpet was a bit dusty too.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Tonks said, scratching the back of her head. “It’s untidy, isn’t it?”
“Erm . . . a bit, yeah,” Harry said slowly. “We can clean it though.”
“We can’t use magic here,” said Tonks. “Not until I pass the Auror Test.”
“We can clean it the Muggle way then,” said Harry unabashedly.
“Argh — that’d take ages, wouldn’t it?”
“Quite a time, yes.”
“Lemme show you your room,” said Tonks, looking defeated.
One of the two rooms was locked. Tonks opened it with another key and led Harry inside. It showed all the signs of having never been in use before.
“It’s great,” Harry said before Tonks could ask. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re Harry Potter for Merlin’s sake!”
And Harry, despite himself, grinned with her.
“You hungry? There’s a nice cafe right down the street,” said Tonks.
“Alright.”
Placing his trunk and the owl cage in his room, Harry followed Tonks out of the apartment and down the street where they entered a cafe named Henry’s Hungry Haat. They both settled down on a table and ordered burgers and fries.
“I’ll pay back as soon as I’m able to exchange money at Gringotts,” Harry said as they left the cafe at around half past seven.
“Take a chill pill, Harry, I’m not that broke now,” Tonks said, placing an arm around his shoulders.
“That’s not what I meant —”
“I know, I know, I’m just kidding. Geez, don’t you have a sense of humor?”
Harry’s eyes narrowed as Tonks smirked down at him. Back in the apartment, not knowing what else to do, Harry picked a copy of Transfiguration Today from the table next to the couch and sat down, reading it.
“I’m taking a shower,” Tonks told him.
“After having dinner?”
“Yeah, I don’t like to sleep stinking of sweat,” she said, shrugging.
“Alright.”
Harry was quite consumed in the magazine he was reading that when Tonks returned half an hour later, he didn’t notice the change at first. Tonks, then, sat down next to him and tried to arrange her blonde hair in a long plait.
Hold on — blonde?
“Your hair!” Harry gasped at her. “They were violet!”
“I’m a Metamorphmagus,” she said simply. “It means I can change my appearance at will,” she added, spotting Harry’s puzzled expression. “Look.”
She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she were struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.
“I was born one. I’m sure I’ll get top marks in Concealment and Disguise in Auror Test, that too without any study at all, it was great. My results are due this month.”
“You’re trying for an Auror?” said Harry, impressed. Aurors were Dark wizard catchers.
“Yeah,” said Tonks, looking proud, before she deflated. “But I’m quite anxious of my results. I think I’m going to fail on Stealth and Tracking, I’m dead clumsy.”
“Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?” Harry asked her.
Tonks chuckled.
“Bet you wouldn’t mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?”
Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead.
“No, I wouldn’t mind,” Harry mumbled. He did not like people staring at his scar.
“Well, you’ll have to learn the hard way, I’m afraid,” said Tonks. “Metamorphmagi are really rare, they’re born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand or potions to change their appearance. . . .”
“You know, I once regrew my hair overnight,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Do you think that might be some sort of Metamorphmagus magic?”
“Metamorphmagi usually start showing their abilities by the time they’re a year old,” Tonks explained. “So, just one burst of magic can’t be called Metamorphmagus abilities.”
Harry sighed in defeat.
“People stare, don’t they?” Tonks said softly, running a hand through Harry’s hair, hiding his scar beneath the messy bangs.
“Almost all of them do,” Harry admitted.
“Not Hermione though, does she?” Tonks smirked.
“You will do well not starting too,” said Harry dismissively, putting the magazine back on the table and getting off the couch.
“Aw — Did I irritate little Harry Potter?” Tonks called after him.
“Not helping. . . .”
Harry closed the door of his room behind himself. Hedwig hooted from her cage. Harry set the owl free, changed into his pajamas, and felt the bed mattress sink as he lay down on it. Only a couple of hours spent in this apartment and yet it felt more like home than number four, Privet Drive ever did.
Number four, Privet Drive was the residence of Harry’s only living relatives: Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley. They were Muggles who hated and despised magic in any form, which meant that Harry was about as welcome in their house as dry rot. They had explained away Harry’s long absences at Hogwarts over the last three years by telling everyone that he went to St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. They knew perfectly well that, as an underage wizard, Harry wasn’t allowed to use magic outside Hogwarts, but they were still apt to blame him for anything that went wrong about the house. Last summer, Harry left their place forever after Uncle Vernon’s sister abused Harry’s parents. He had an accidental burst of magic which inflated Aunt Marge like a balloon.
And yet it was because of Voldemort that Harry had come to live with the Dursleys in the first place. If it hadn’t been for Voldemort, Harry would not have had the lightning scar on his forehead. If it hadn’t been for Voldemort, Harry would still have had parents. . . .
Harry had been a year old the night that Voldemort — the most powerful Dark wizard for a century, a wizard who had been gaining power steadily for eleven years — arrived at his house and killed his father and mother. Voldemort had then turned his wand on Harry; he had performed the curse that had disposed of many full-grown witches and wizards in his steady rise to power — and, incredibly, it had not worked. Instead of killing the small boy, the curse had rebounded upon Voldemort. Harry had survived with nothing but a lightning-shaped cut on his forehead, and Voldemort had been reduced to something barely alive. His powers gone, his life almost extinguished, Voldemort had fled; the terror in which the secret community of witches and wizards had lived for so long had lifted, Voldemort’s followers had disbanded, and Harry Potter had become famous.
It had been enough of a shock for Harry to discover, on his eleventh birthday, that he was a wizard; it had been even more disconcerting to find out that everyone in the hidden wizarding world knew his name. Harry had arrived at Hogwarts to find that heads turned and whispers followed him wherever he went. But he was used to it now: At the end of this summer, he would be starting his fourth year at Hogwarts, and Harry was already counting the days until he would be back at the castle again.
Harry woke up at six the next morning, all thanks to Hedwig hooting loudly at the windowsill, most likely for her morning Owl Treats.
“Hold on, will you?” Harry groaned, sitting up unwillingly.
Rubbing his eyes, he pulled his trunk out from underneath his bed and searched its contents for Hedwig’s Owl Treats. In the process, along with the Treats, Harry also found his cell phone.
Harry’s heart skipped a beat as he read that there were seven missed calls from Hermione. He had completely forgotten to call Hermione after reaching here.
Quickly dialing her number, Harry put the phone between his right shoulder and his ear while he got up and went into the kitchen for two bowls, one of which he filled with water and the other one with Owl Treats.
“Remembered me, did you?” Hermione hissed hotly the moment she picked the call.
“I’m sorry I —”
“Forgot to call me, yeah?”
“I’m really sorry,” Harry said guiltily. “Please.”
Hermione took a moment of pause at the end of which she sighed deeply.
“Can’t even stay mad at you . . .” she muttered under her breath. “Anyway, how’s Mrs. Tonks’s place?”
“Not Mrs. Tonks’s place, her daughter’s. . . .”
Harry explained Nymphadora Tonks’s arrival at King’s Cross and her taking him to her apartment.
“A Metamorphmagus!” Hermione said, sounding impressed. “That’s like one of the rarest magics!”
“One of the coolest too,” said Harry, beaming and carrying the two bowls back to his room and placing them in front of Hedwig, who bent down over them gratefully. “She changed her hair color just by thinking of it.”
“Must have been crazy seeing it the first time.”
“Tell me about it. Last night, she went into shower violet-haired and then came out blonde, and I was like ‘What the hell!’ ”
Hermione giggled.
“That’s when she told me about Metamorphmagi. . . . The place needs an overhaul though.”
“Ah, well, people who live alone do tend to ignore personal hygiene,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “My Dad used to stay alone while in college and he admits his place used to be a bit untidy, until he met Mum anyway.”
“Well, not alone anymore, is she?” said Harry firmly. “I was thinking of cleaning it a bit. . . . What are you doing today?”
“Well, not much, just a bit of homework —”
“You mean, all of it?” Harry said, grinning.
Hermione gave a “Hmpf” and the two of them continued their conversation while Harry went back into the hall and began tidying it up. He dusted the carpet and the furniture, removed the curtains for laundry, and hung Tonks’s carelessly-lying clothes on hooks behind the main door. Then, he went to take care of the kitchen by washing the utensils and placing each and every thing where it was supposed to be.
At around nine, Harry was just finished with cleaning the microwave oven when Tonks’s door open.
“Holy shit!”
Harry turned to find her in a mid-yawn, her arms outstretched. Her eyes were wide open, grazing over the scene in utter disbelief.
“I tidied up the place a little bit,” Harry explained. “I’ll call you later, Hermione,” he added quietly to the phone.
“Sure,” said Hermione, and Harry pocketed his cell phone.
Tonks paced around the hall, putting a hand on the furniture as she went past it.
“A little bit?” she whispered disbelievingly. “Merlin’s saggy balls, Harry, the place looks unrecognizable.”
“Merlin’s what?”
“Saggy — You know what, never mind. . . . Oh, Harry, this is amazing. How did you do this? Did you not sleep all night?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Harry airily. “It took me the better of three hours only.”
“Three hours?” Tonks repeated, looking even more stunned. “I couldn’t have done this in three days.”
Harry rolled his eyes but said nothing. It was nice to be praised for your efforts after all.
“I’m taking a shower now,” he told her. “I’ll make some noodles later.”
“You’ll make noodles?” Tonks mumbled feebly as Harry winked and left her in the hall to bring his clothes and towel.
An hour later, Tonks (when she had bathed too) was shocked once again to her core as she had a look at, in her opinion, the perfect noodles in existence.
“What else can you make?” she asked Harry, enjoying the taste of the first mouthful of her noodles.
“Pretty much everything,” Harry said with modesty.
“Am I the luckiest roommate ever or what?” Tonks said happily, wolfing down the rest of her meal. “You know what, call me Dora. I don’t let anybody but my closest friends call me that, mind you.”
As days passed by, Dora got used to Harry and Harry got used to Dora as each other’s roommate. The apartment was now much more livable than what it was when Harry had arrived. Though Dora kept untidying the place out of habit, she did make amendments upon receiving earfuls of lectures on hygiene from Harry.
Harry did not realize what Dora had meant when she had said that she was dead clumsy until she injured herself with something he would have never thought possible.
“It’s the damn couch!” Dora cursed irritably, caressing her right ankle with trembling hands. “Who puts a couch in the middle of the hall?”
“It’s always been there,” Harry pointed out reasonably and had to pay for it by receiving a glare like none before from Dora. He knelt on the floor and took her swollen ankle in his hands.
“Aaaargh!” Dora screamed when he moved her ankle only a millimeter in the left. “Put it down! Put it down!”
Harry then had to nurse her ankle by soaking her foot in hot water for a while.
“Seems better now,” Tonks mumbled, looking a little embarrassed. “And, er, I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”
“It’s fine, and do use your eyes while walking please,” said Harry to which Dora smacked his shoulder.
The problem at Tonks’s apartment, Harry realized a few days later, was that it was pretty much empty. There was no television to keep them engaged.
“I’m living on rent, Harry, and I’m jobless,” said Dora weakly when Harry asked her about television. “Add two and two.”
Harry wanted to offer help but he thought better of it since Dora looked like a proud witch to him. Why else would she be living in a rented apartment when her parents had a decent place in Devon?
Harry was still amazed every time Dora morphed her appearance. She even entertained him a few nights by adopting funny appearances when they had nothing else to do but didn’t want to go to bed yet either.
“Ha ha — stop —” Harry laughed, as he fell off the couch onto the floor, clutching his sides, his eyes full of tears. Dora had a pig snout for a nose right now and was even grunting like a pig.
Dora’s rent bill along with electricity and water charges were dropped at the front door on the fifteenth of July.
“Who’s Nicole Tyke?” Harry asked Dora as he glanced at the bills over her shoulders.
“I am,” she told him. “Most of us wizards live by false names in Muggle neighborhoods, you know, so that even if we have an accidental outburst of magic or something else goes wrong, nobody in the Muggle world could recognize us, not with our names at least. Just a precaution some of us, especially who work in the Ministry, feel necessary, and since I’m trying for Auror. . . .
“Back to earth, Harry.”
“Huh?” Harry gave a guilty start and found Dora gazing at him, her dark eyes twinkling with joy.
“Did you hear what I asked you?”
“Erm, no, sorry . . .”
“I asked if you’d like to come to the Ministry to see me receive my Auror Certificate.”
“Oh, oh, yeah, why not, Dora?” Harry said at once. “Can Hermione come too?”
Dora laughed and kissed Harry on the cheek again.
“Answer enough?” she teased him. Harry did nothing but roll his eyes and kiss Dora’s cheek in return. Her eyes were wide when he pulled back and she was caressing the cheek he had pecked on.
“Stop gaping, would you?” Harry said wavily.
“That’d be awesome, Harry!” Hermione said excitedly when Harry informed her about their expected trip to the Ministry. “Pass the phone to Tonks please, I want to talk to her.”
“She wants to talk to you,” Harry told Dora, passing her the phone.
“Me?” Dora murmured in surprise before she brought the phone to her ear. “Hello, wotcher, Hermione. . . .”
The two witches seemingly talked about the Ministry for the better part of an hour. Dora later went on to show Harry a file about the Ministry personnel she thought he needed to be familiar with. Amelia Bones was there too.
“She’d be my boss,” said Dora. “She is my boss, I guess, now that I’ve passed.”
She had the same dreamy smile on her face she sported every time she talked about finally being an Auror.
“Do you think I can be an Auror?” Harry asked her curiously.
“If you train yourself up and build your physique. But I guess they would take you in just by seeing your name on the application.”
“I don’t want that,” said Harry, outraged.
“Wouldn’t matter, trust me. . . .”
Never before had Harry waited as eagerly for his birthday as he was doing this time. Seeing both the Grangers and the Ministry was quite an exciting concept in his books.
Dora had been invited to the Grangers Residence too.
“Should I wear this shirt or this one?” she asked Harry a day before his birthday, showing him two of her shirts. One was plain navy-blue, the other pitch-black. Before Harry could answer, she answered herself, “The blue one would match with my blue jeans. Which bra should I wear, though?”
“Don’t you dare!” Harry exclaimed, red-faced, as Dora pulled out a few of her bras and stood holding them in front of him.
“Oh, c’mon, I’m preparing you for your future endeavors,” Dora said airily and pulled him onto her bed. “Look, erm . . . This one here is a push-up bra,” she said, holding out a floral pink bra. “It pushes up your breasts but I think it’d be inappropriate for a family function, too much cleavage.”
Harry sat there, mortified. His brain had shut down completely.
“This is a sports bra,” Dora went on, now showing Harry a black bra. “But I wear it only when I have to do physical work.”
She explained every bra’s speciality to Harry and then laid them all out beside him on the bed.
“So, what d’you think? Which one should I wear?”
“Just wear any,” Harry said, feeling more embarrassed than ever.
“At least have a look at them!” Dora encouraged him, and he dared turn his head. His heart beating like a drum in his chest, Harry blinked at the fancy lingerie lying in front of him. Then, feeling he had no other choice but to choose one for Dora, he began separating them with clumsy hands.
“Why are some of them different-sized?” Harry voiced his thought aloud before reddening even more, realizing exactly why.
“To be able to completely change your appearance is a crucial part of Auror training, and being a gifted witch, I can change my appearance at will and changing my breast size is just a part of it to make my new appearance look believable —”
“I’m going to make something to eat!”
Harry jumped to his feet, humiliated, looking anywhere but at Dora, and left the room in a haste.
An hour later, the two of them were sitting on the couch, silently eating spaghetti that Harry had made. He had not looked Dora in the eye since storming out of her room.
“Harry,” she spoke at last as they finished their dinner, “it’s alright, and I’m sorry if you felt like I was teasing you, but try to understand. Lingerie is an important part of being a woman, and one day or the other, you’ll have to choose them for your partner. Hell, you will have to even buy them for her.”
Harry sighed. She was talking some sense, he thought.
“Perhaps nobody ever told you at your relatives’ place,” Dora went on. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Really.”
“I didn’t mean to be mad at you,” Harry admitted, finally looking up at her.
She smiled genuinely and said, “I know. . . . You still have to help me choose though.”
Harry groaned in protest.
“Come on, it’s fun, admit it!”
“It’s embarrassing!”
“Yes, but still fun!”
“You’re unbelievable,”
“That’s a yes then, isn’t it?” Dora smirked, and Harry realized that he had stepped right into her trap.
“Fine,” he grunted. “But don’t show me your underwear, just pick the matching one.”
“Fair enough. . . .”